


Autumn, May and December

by Lady_Ganesh



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Humor, Kink Meme, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-10
Updated: 2011-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-24 00:43:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/256948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Ganesh/pseuds/Lady_Ganesh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After twenty-five years in prison, daily life takes some getting used to. Fortunately, Ed makes some friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Released

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Saiyuki kinkmeme 2011, special thanks to the prompter and [](http://emungere.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**emungere**](http://emungere.dreamwidth.org/) for helping me clean it up to post.

I confess that when I met Jeff I was in something of a bind. I had only a week remaining at the halfway house, my job prospects remained dismal, and my only friend was the chaplain at my former prison. I spent most of my time at the library, playing Bejeweled when I should have been looking for work. (But who would hire me? I certainly couldn't teach again, and what other skills did I have? The jobs counselor insisted I could 'do a lot' with an English degree, but proved more evasive when pressed for details.)

The librarian had glanced disapprovingly in my direction, so I switched tabs and went back to my fruitless search for employment. There were no replies in my Yahoo! mail account, and Monster showed nothing suitable. There were a few new postings on Craigslist, but none of them looked particularly promising until I reached:

 _Tutor needed. Must have experience with learning disabilities. Can't pay much but will trade._

A child, or an adult, I wondered? And what on earth would I trade for? It was unlikely they could give me an apartment. Though perhaps they had a rooftop garden....

It was a foolish dream, but I had few options. I composed my most professional email (carefully leaving dates off my teaching history), and hoped for the best.

To my surprise, I received a reply within a few minutes; it was poorly spelled, but charming, and the address (in Chinatown, not far from the library I was in) easy enough to get to. _Can u come in 1 hr?_

Yes, I could. I was already wearing my only suit in case an 'apply in person' opportunity presented itself; I was as presentable as I was going to be.

One subway stop, a few side streets, and I was standing in front of a lovely old building. My potential client was on the second floor, in the kind of apartment that was usually carefully maintained and likely rent-controlled.

I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't the underfed young man who opened the door.

He was tall, and lanky, with dark auburn hair that hid his face as much as it framed it. I couldn't place his race, though there was certainly some Asian heritage; his skeptical eyes were a deep, arresting brown. "You're the tutor?" he asked.

"Yes," I answered.

"Cho, right?"

I nodded and extended my hand. He shook it, and when he smiled, his face changed entirely, opening up, revealing how attractive he truly was.

I swallowed.

"Come on in," he said. "Sorry about the apartment."

The apartment looked like the ruins of an older, better apartment. It was spacious (at least, the parts that weren't cluttered with mail, magazines, and pizza boxes), and the decorations on the wall were tasteful. The dishes in the sink looked attractive enough, under the caked-on food. My host (Jeff, he'd said in the email) cleared a stack of mail from the kitchen table and gestured for me to sit.

"I've started college," he said. "They tested me, and I'm dyslexic. No big surprise, but I guess I'm pretty bad."

I found out later that his school had likely passed and graduated him out of pure inertia; a not uncommon tale, though more common, I think, in my era than in his. His community college offered academic assistance, but it was limited; his professor had suggested a dedicated tutor. "He says I could be a good writer," he continued, a bit sheepishly. "I just don't want to screw this up, ya know?"

I had already realized that tutoring this man would likely be a mistake. While I did, technically, have experience with students with learning disabilities, it was with children, and I'd been in prison for a quarter century; my skills were rusty and no doubt outdated. More importantly, the way he smiled wrenched my heart; he was handsome, and charming, and young enough to be my son.

"I can't pay much," he said. "But I could trade. What do you need?"

I tried not to laugh. "Food, shelter, clothing ... almost everything."

"I got an extra room here," he said, brightening a little. "Maybe you could, I dunno, clean up or something. We could split food."

God help me, I said yes.

  
I scrubbed grout with a toothbrush and separated the white laundry from the dark. The dishes were of a very high quality and survived being washed with very hot water and antibacterial soap (though I had read in the newspaper not to buy the products unless absolutely necessary, it seemed appropriate). I couldn't buy too many other expensive cleaning products, so I used baking soda and vinegar. When Jeff complained it smelled like I should be cooking something, I bought a roast cheap at the market and put it in the slow cooker he didn't even know he had.

In addition to his classes at the community college, Jeff worked part-time at one of the local bars; I suspected he hustled cards on the side, but what was the good of chiding him about that? I certainly couldn't make any claims to morality.

In time, he revealed that he'd inherited the apartment from a 'friend,' a Mrs. Huang, who also gave him enough money to go back to college with. He was careful with it in a way he was careful of little else. "She thought I could make something of myself," he explained. "I wanna prove her right."

My own past, of course, was considerably darker, but I did eventually reveal the truth. My sister's kidnapping, her pregnancy, and my vengeance when I found the men responsible. "They called it a 'crime of passion,'" I told him. "I suppose otherwise I'd still be in jail."

"My older brother." Jeff looked at the table. "He always took care of me. Looked out for me. Even when things were ... pretty bad. What ... where's she at, now? She okay?"

"She killed herself," I said.

"Shit," he said. "I'm sorry--"

"You didn't know," I said, and I smiled at him to reassure him. "You probably weren't even alive."

"I'm not that young," he said wryly.

I lifted my eyebrows.

"Well, okay. I'm twenty-five. But that's not that young."

"I used to think that too."

  
I tried not to look at him too much. Fortunately for us both, his hours at work and the college kept him out much of the time, and he didn't always come back at night to sleep. I knew better than to try to pry into his affairs, though I confess I never slept well when he was gone.

He would always be back in the morning. He would lean over the bathroom sink, shirtless and shoeless, brushing his teeth, a towel over that long auburn hair, and I would try not to stare at his bared neck. "Would you like breakfast?"

He turned and grinned. "Yeah, great."

That smile was going to destroy me. I fled to the kitchen and cracked some eggs into the frying pan (good cast iron, a dream to cook on). Cooking kept me focused; planning meals let me budget and keep busy, even as I went through another humiliating round of job applications and interviews that went nowhere.

  
I'd been at the apartment for a few weeks when Gen stopped by.

"Nice place," he said, scanning the foyer with his eyes, skeptical, suspicious.

"It's rent-controlled," I explained, and let him in.

"How are you doing?"

"I'm all right," I said. It was generally true. I certainly felt as sane as I had in prison, and I'd done fine there, aside from that one incident early on. Isolation generally seemed to suit me.

"I've got some work for you," he said. "At the temple."

"That would be nice. What kind of work?"

He shrugged. Gen was the kind of man who made cynical shrugs look elegant. "The woman who's been keeping the books is retiring. Won't be full-time but should keep you busy. Build up your resume."

I nodded. All the adult education and correspondence courses I had taken should count for something.

Jeff wasn't supposed to be back from class until four, but the key rattled in the lock. I wasn't sure I wanted my only friends to meet. (A voice in my head asked if Jeff was indeed a friend, if that was all I wanted, but I ignored it.) "Ed," he said as the door swung open, his voice pitched high with excitement, "Ed, you won't believe what I got--" His eyes widened when he saw Gen. "Oh, hey," he said. "Uh."

Gen was a decade or so younger than I was, thinner than Jeff, with narrow, clever eyes and a near-constant frown. I'm not quite sure if it was a reward or punishment that sent him as a chaplain to my prison -- a bit of both, perhaps -- but I was grateful for his companionship, and I suspect he appreciated someone who made no issue of his tremendous beauty. He was an excellent chess player. He'd started shaving his head a few years ago, when his blond hair really started disappearing, and I have to confess it suited him. "You're Jeff?" Gen asked. He looked unimpressed.

Jeff was wearing his usual clothes; jeans, a battered old t-shirt, filthy sneakers without socks. He looked like a college student, and impossibly young. "Yeah," he said. "Gen?"

"I'd said he might be stopping by," I said, hoping this wouldn't end as badly as I feared it might.

"Yeah," Jeff said, taking stock of Gen. "Forgot you were a, um, man of the cloth." He took the paper he'd been carrying and put it on the table, in front of me. _Great work,_ the professor had scrawled in the corner. _Tremendous improvement. B+_ "Nice, huh?"

"Wonderful," I said, smiling. He'd been working very hard, I shouldn't have been surprised.

"Either of you guys want a beer?" He leaned over to search in the refrigerator; his shirt rid up his back.

Gen cleared his throat, and I stopped staring, returning my attention to Jeff's paper. "Is this the professor who recommended you get tutoring?"

"Yeah," he grinned, turning around with a beer in his hand. "You guys--" He twisted the bottle in his hand as an offer. I shook my head; Gen must have done the same. "I gotta take him out for a drink or something once the semester's over. He saved my ass for sure."

"Perhaps dinner here would be more appropriate." Perhaps there was more edge in my voice than I'd intended; I saw Gen's eyebrow raise.

"Sure, whatever," Jeff said, opening his beer and taking a long swallow.

"Isn't it a bit early--"

"Hey, look at that grade!" Jeff said happily. "Plus my last class got cancelled, so I got the rest of the day off."

"Your homework's finished?"

"Yeah, _mom,"_ he said, heavily. He rolled his eyes at Gen, who snorted. "I'm gonna go out on the fire escape, let you guys catch up."

"Thank you," I said, as he retreated.

Gen wasn't exactly smiling, but he seemed amused.

"What?" I asked.

He just shook his head. "So much for the Monk."

That had been my nickname in prison; by the time Gen arrived I had earned it by forcibly resisting others' advances. (I would never make parole, but I was fine with that.) "We're not--"

"Hn," he said.

I shook my head and told myself it didn't bother me that he didn't believe me.

  
We had Gen over for dinner a few times in the following weeks; he and Jeff didn't quite get along, but there was a certain genial camaraderie in our little group, nonetheless. They both agreed on my cooking, at any rate.

Jeff's grades were good; he never stopped thanking me, and I grew more and more comfortable with his easy familiarity, the way he touched my hand, his weight against mine as I helped him study.

It was something like happiness, this new life, the freedom I had, the companionship. But then I would remember: my mistakes, my losses. That Jeff had been born the year I entered prison.

I knew it couldn't last.

I hadn't been sleeping well, so I suppose it wasn't too much of a surprise when I fell asleep one night on the couch waiting for Jeff to come home. I woke to pleasure, warmth, the smell of cigarettes and stale alcohol; wiry arms around me, long, thick hair between my fingers....

I started. "Jeff?"

"Shit," Jeff said, pulling away from me as quickly as I had parted from him. "Shit, you smiled at me -- I thought you were awake--"

"I--" My hand was on his thigh. When had I....

"I'm sorry," he said. "Shit. I--"

"No, no," I said. "I should apologize. I didn't--"

We stuttered more excuses and tried to pretend we weren't both aroused. I swallowed hard and tried to find a neutral place to rest my eyes. My heart was hammering in my chest; it felt like my skin was on fire where he'd touched me.

"I should go to bed," I said.

"Yeah," he said. "Sure."

He had tasted like beer, but not in a bad way. My hands were shaking as I got up; I hid it by thrusting them into my pockets. "Goodnight."

"You too," he said. "Sorry."

  
Jeff was already gone by the time I woke. He had an early class, but usually he lingered in the kitchen, so we could at least have a bowl of cereal together. Had it really happened so quickly? I'd been in the apartment little more than a month, and there we were, accustomed to one another. Felix and Oscar. Bert and Ernie, I corrected wryly. Or perhaps Nick and Nora. Nick and Nick?

I dropped my teacup when I was cleaning up from my own breakfast, one of the delicate ones Mrs. Huang had left behind, with a Western pattern of pink roses.

There was a choice to be made, I knew. I'd put it off long enough.

I swept the remains of the cup into the dustpan and went to work.

The monks were generally well-meaning, but not good with money, and terrible at keeping orderly receipts. Two weeks of work had kept me very much on my toes, and I suspected I'd made an enemy of the older, embittered gentleman who thought he should be running the temple instead of Gen. But when Gen handed me my first paycheck in a quarter of a century, I felt tremendously satisfied. It almost put my other thoughts out of my mind.

I knew my hourly wage, but there was something exciting, slightly frightening, about the full quantity of the check. We'd promised to pool our resources, but Jeff certainly wouldn't begrudge me a new pair of eyeglasses; the prison standard was uncomfortable and unattractive.

Or it could go toward a security deposit on an apartment of my own.

I walked out of the temple, the check in my hand, and wondered what I should do.

  
Jeff didn't come back to the apartment until the next morning. I had cooked lasagna, just in case, but it would be fine until the next day.

I waited until he had returned to the apartment to start breakfast; I'd had to have a snack, but it was nice to have eggs cooking again in the pan. "Hey," he said.

"Good morning," I said, though it was closer to noon.

"You're makin' breakfast? Thanks," he said. "Look, I'm still sorry about the other night--"

"It's all right," I said, and turned to face him.

Lenscrafters had cost a bit more than I'd anticipated, but I thought the investment worth it. The way his eyes widened when he saw me certainly made me think so. "Wow," he said.

"I know you tire of me saying it," I said, "but you are significantly younger than me. I certainly don't expect anything like a lifetime investment--"

"Shut up," he said, crossing the room faster than I'd realized he could. One hand switched the burner off and another brushed against my face, and _oh,_ it had been so long, and oh, his mouth was sweet against mine, poorly-covered morning breath and all. "Shit," he muttered, and I could feel his stubble scraping against my chin. "You're so fucking pretty--"

"I'm not," I protested. I'd looked at myself in the mirror in the morning; the wrinkles around my eyes, faint lines at the corners of my mouth, black hair greying to silver at my temples, stubble growing in white and silver patches. If I'd ever been pretty, I'd left it behind me years ago.

Not like Jeff, the thin, cruel lines of his mouth, the spirit in his eyes, his face still fresh, still free of the tiny, telling signs of age. But he still wanted me, _wanted_ me, his hands rough and needy on my body, and I had _needed_ this, needed him. "Shut up," he said. "Let me. God, I've never seen anybody like you." His fingers snaked down to my fly and unzipped it, taking me in hand, moving fast and rough, and I felt like a teenager again, like my life had started over when I moved outside the prison door.

He was remarkably skilled, and I found myself panting for breath, urging him on, helpless to do anything but moan and murmur encouragement. He brought me to a climax so intense that I felt lights flash behind my eyes. I pulled my glasses off and wiped my brow; he was close enough I could still see his satisfied grin. He chuckled, and I vowed to wipe the smirk off his face.

I dropped to my knees.

"You don't haveta," he said, and then he didn't talk for quite some time.

When I put my glasses back on, I saw the sodden mess that had been the eggs. "Oh dear," I said. "I do hate to waste food--"

"We'll buy more," Jeff said, and pushed me against the counter again to kiss me.


	2. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen and Professor Son meet.

Ed always worried more about the age thing than I did. Shit, Ed worried more than I did anyway. "You told him," he asked for the millionth time, "that I'm older? Significantly so?"

"He doesn't care," I said. "And yeah, I told him. And he _doesn't care._ Nobody cares about that but you." I leaned in and kissed his neck. "Besides, if he _did_ care, he wouldn't the second he smelled that stew."

He brightened up a little at that. "You think?"

"It smells fantastic," I said, and slid my arms around his waist. He could say what he wanted; most guys my age would still have killed for a body like his.

I nuzzled at his hair and he said, "Jeff, you don't want to feed your professor a stew that's burnt on the bottom, do you?"

I didn't care much at that point, but I knew I wouldn't get anywhere, so I settled for kissing the back of his ear and letting go. "You want me to set the table?"

"Do you think you can place the silverware correctly?"

I stuck my tongue out at him.

Don't get me wrong; I wanted to make a good impression. Dr. Son had been the one to recommend a tutor to me in the first place. Without that, I probably wouldn't have made it to graduation, much less have Ed in bed with me every night. I'd wanted to thank him for years, but Ed insisted it was 'more appropriate' to wait until I was done with school. So here we were, all nice and appropriate, with Ed cooking enough for the goddamned city when we were only having one guest, and looking like a fucking Hong Kong movie star. I wanted to bend him over the counter, but Dr. Son was coming in ten minutes, so I was a good boy and set the table instead.

He actually came in five minutes, with a bottle of wine. I'd never really seen him out of the classroom, where he usually wore a jacket and a loosely tied tie. He'd ditched the tie and jacket but was still wearing a nice shirt, dark purple, and his hair -- which was usually a disaster -- had been carefully combed into place.

I saw Ed inspect the label as he took the bottle, and it must've been a good brand, 'cause he smiled a little more. "Thank you," he said. "You didn't have to bring anything--"

"Least I could do," Dr. Son said, with his easy, friendly smile. Most people at the college thought he'd been a stoner back in the day, and now had so much pot in his system he was always mellow. I kind of figured it was just the way he was. "Smells great in here."

"I do aim to please," Ed said, and we let him in.

Dr. Son -- Eran, he said I had to start calling him by his first name now he wasn't my teacher -- sat in the little living room we had, and I caught him up a little on how I was doing. "I'm gonna apply for the assistant manager job at the bar," I said, "since Angela's leaving. That way I can do classes during the day; I want to get up to fluency in Spanish and Mandarin, they say I'm more 'marketable' then."

"Nice," Eran said, shoveling in another ham roll; I couldn't blame him, they were amazing. "Jeff, you're a bookkeeper?"

"Among other things," he said smoothly. "I do keep track of things at one of the local Buddhist temples."

"They're lucky to have you," I said. "Gen said they lost a ton of money before you."

"Sloppiness can cost an organization dearly," Ed said primly, and somehow he was talking about how I don't pick up enough of the dirty laundry, too. Typical Ed.

"I bet they--"

And then someone knocked on the door. No one _ever_ comes by except Gen and the delivery guys, and I'd warned Ed to tell Gen to fuck off that night. The last thing I needed was him glaring at everything in sight. I nodded at Ed, and he got the door.

"I know you've got a guest, I’m just--"

"It's okay," Eran said, craning his neck from where he'd been sitting to take a look at Gen.

It was rainy as hell; Gen's head was still wet. The damp weather brought out how smoky his eyes were. "You asked for this as soon as I had it," he said, shoving a plastic bag at Ed. "So here it is."

I knew this song and dance; Gen did the 'I was just stopping by anyway, and I'm gonna pretend I'm surprised when you offer me food' deal all the time. But not when I had someone else, and when I'd _told_ Ed to have him keep his distance. "Thanks," I said, getting up. "I'm sure you--"

And then Eran was past me, shaking Gen's hand, talking faster than he even did in class when he got to the good parts of the books. "Eran Son, pleasure to meet you. Come on in, I don't mind, I'm sure there's plenty of food...."

Now don't get me wrong; the first time I saw Ed I knew he was special. But I never saw anything like the way Gen and Eran looked at each other before. Hair or no hair, _everybody_ checked out Gen; he was gorgeous, long eyelashes, pretty eyes, soft mouth. And for once he wasn't scowling; just looking at Eran, studying him, those smoky eyes holding Eran's as they shook hands. "Gen," he said.

Eran's face looked like it did when he talked about Shakespeare or James Baldwin.

"Ed made enough for an army," I said. "Come on, what the hell."

Gen ate the rest of the ham things, and the bottle of wine was half gone by the time Ed decided the stew was ready. "Where'd you guys meet again?" Eran asked, sliding into his place (I'd set a new one for Gen, at his right. I figured they'd just moon into each other's eyes all night if I sat them across from each other).

"Gen was the prison chaplain," Ed said. Twenty-five years older? Bothered the hell out of him. Ex-con? Oh, no problem, he'd tell anybody. "His chess games helped sustain me for many years."

"Chess, huh? I'm more of a Scrabble guy myself."

"I suck at Scrabble," Gen said with what almost looked like a chuckle.

I looked at Ed in panic. _He'd chuckled._ He said he sucked at something. What the hell was going on? Who was this guy, and what had he done with Gen? Ed looked as confused as I felt. I helped him get the stew dished in the kitchen. "What the hell--"

"I don't know," he hissed.

"He's never--"

"I'm not sure he's ever dated," he muttered back. "I'm not entirely sure he's allowed to."

"What the hell," I said. I'd known that having Dr. Son over for dinner would feel kind of weird, but I had no idea I'd end up in the damn Twilight Zone.

Ed shook his head.

They both liked the stew, anyway, and the bread Ed had made fresh that morning, and the green salad with the little mandarin oranges and toasted almond slices he insisted on toasting himself. (I'd never admit it, but they really did taste better when he did that.) Gen didn't _chuckle_ again, but he still smiled more than I'd seen him smile in the almost three years I'd known him, and his usual stories of the stupidity of the monks were a little funnier and a little less vicious. Well, a little. "I said, you're twenty-six. You're from Manhattan. You're gay. I don't give a shit if you're renouncing the world, don't pretend you don't know who Lady Gaga is."

We opened a second bottle of wine over dessert (a souffle, of course, that Ed had fussed over like a little old lady), and Gen and Eran continued to flirt. I had a pretty nice buzz on by the time things wound down. "You have a car?" Gen asked. "I'll walk you out."

"I took the subway," Eran said. "We could--"

"Yeah," Gen said. "Sounds good."

Eran grinned at us like he'd just found the good prize in the bottom of the cereal box. "Thanks so much," he said. "Both of you. Such a great meal, and good company--" His eyes darted over to Gen. "I really appreciate it."

"We do hope you'll come back," Ed said. It was rare when he liked someone new so quickly. Eran loving his food probably helped. "Gen, are we still on for Tuesday?"

"Sure," Gen said, and I'd never seen him want to get out of a place so much before or since. "Thanks."

"You can both come," I said, sliding my arm back around Ed. "If you want."

They looked like they'd got their hands caught in the cookie jar. "Yeah," Eran said, as Gen said, "Sure," and then they finally got out of there, poor assholes. I half wanted to go out on the fire escape and see if I could tell if they were holding hands as they walked out.

"I hope we don't regret whatever it is we just did," Ed said.

"Yeah," I said, and gave his neck a kiss. "C'mon, let's go to bed."

"The dishes--"

I slid my hand down his back. "I'll get 'em in the morning, promise."

He sighed, but I knew I'd won then.

"Why should those two have all the fun, right?"

"I suppose you're right," he said, and off we went.


	3. The Morning After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gen wakes up, and things are different. [](http://emungere.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**emungere**](http://emungere.dreamwidth.org/) betaed this too, 'cause she's awesome.

It was sunny.

Morning. Late morning, considering how much fucking sun was coming through the window. I wasn’t as hung over as I probably should’ve been. Probably couldn’t blame last night on the wine.

Probably couldn’t blame last night on anything but my own stupidity.

Eran was still in bed, right next to me like he belonged there. Of course, it was his bed.

 _Shit,_ I thought. If I’d had half a brain, I would’ve taken off right then and blocked his number. Course I didn’t know his number then. Stupid, the whole thing. I probably had half a dozen calls from those idiots at the temple wondering where I was.

Eran muttered something in his sleep and moved closer. I pushed the hair off his face so I could see him better. He was as warm as the sun beating its way through the shade.

This was a fucking terrible idea. No wonder it felt so good.

I’d almost fallen back to sleep when Eran woke up and my dick helpfully reminded me that not only had it been at least eight hours or whatever since my last orgasm, I really needed to piss.

“Want the bathroom first?” Eran muttered against my chest.

“Yeah, thanks.” I got up, pissed, splashed some water against my face and tried to talk myself into leaving. Eran came in while I was staring at the mirror, feeling old and sentimental and stupid. He pissed and shoved me out of the way so he could wash his hands. His apartment was tiny, and the bathroom didn’t really have room for us both.

I pushed him up against the door anyway, bit his neck, made him moan and grab at me; I grinned like hell when he came in my hand. He got on his knees and sucked me off. He let me put my hands in his hair. I’m not sure he has a gag reflex.

He spit in the sink when he was finished and grinned at me. “I’m hungry,” he said. “You can shower, if you want.”

Shower sounded good. “Thanks,” I said.

He was cooking when I got out, eggs in the pan, wearing a thin, old, t-shirt, his boxers clinging to his ass. He’d brewed coffee and made toast. Smelled pretty good. I reached down and cupped his ass, and he leaned back a little.“You can’t stay, right?”

“No.” The most recent message on my phone was from the Monk: _I have convinced them not to call the police, but I’m not entirely sure I can hold them off much longer._ There were also three voicemails and ten additional texts. I sent _Tell them to fuck off_ back to the Monk and ignored the rest.

“Sorry, it’s just eggs. I didn’t have a lot in the fridge,” Eran said apologetically. “I was gonna run to the market last night after dinner....” He waved his hand vaguely.

“It’s fine,” I said. I kissed his neck. I couldn’t stop touching him. I was losing my fucking mind.

“You busy tonight?”

Friday was Jikaku’s night. “Yeah. Saturday?”

He looked up at me, flashed that smile again. “Sounds good.”

  
“What’s his name?” Jikaku asked.

“Fuck you,” I told him, and sat the pizza box down.

Jikaku chuckled and reached for the pizza. Not much bothered him. “What kind did you get?”

“Pepperoni,” I said, and sat down. Out of the temple, we’d always eaten meat like starving men, but Jikaku was always extra ravenous for whatever I brought. He claimed the retirement home never cooked anything right. He claimed a lot of things about the retirement home. Some of them were actually true. “Hurry up and eat before it gets cold, old man.”

He rolled his eyes, but he ate. “You’ll bring him over next week,” he said.

“I just met him last night,” I grumbled. It was giving him territory, but he couldn’t stay up arguing like he used to.

He chuckled. “So what’s his name?”

“Eran,” I said. “But you’ll know his blogging name better.”

One of Jikaku’s thick eyebrows raised. “You met him online?”

“He’s one of Jeff’s professors. But he blogged for _Bicycle_ until they fired him.” In fact, I’d had that blog entry on my bulletin board for years. (With _Read this!!_ written on top in black Magic Marker.)

“You’re dating _Wukong?”_ His amusement turned into full-out laughter. “You’ve got a talent, Gen.”

“Shut up,” I muttered. Dating wasn’t exactly the right word either, but damned if I knew what the right word was.

  
Jikaku got tired early (it was happening more and more often; I knew, of course, he wouldn’t last forever -- it was why he was in the damn retirement home in the first place -- but it still never sat right). It was eight o’clock, and I had jack to do for the rest of the night.

Not a real surprise that I’d walk over to Eran’s.

When I got to his building I stared at the directory for a while, wondering if I was really stupid enough to press the button. He probably wasn’t even home.

“Gen?”

Or he was walking out while I was standing there like an idiot. That wasn’t pathetic _at all._ “Hey.”

That smile. Goddamn. “You get out early?”

“Yeah.”

“I was--” he paused. “Come on.”

He grabbed my hand as he went past, and I followed him. Like we’d done this for years. Like I met him outside his apartment all the time, and we just went out together, to wherever the hell it was we were going.

I’d follow him, though. I knew that already.

We went to a gelato place, where while you waited in line you could watch them make the stuff. “They’ve got thousands of flavors,” he said, eagerly. “I mean, rotating, but still. _Thousands.”_

I got vanilla bean. He got salted caramel. “I know you can’t stay,” he said when we got back to his apartment, “but can you come up?”

He was in my lap kissing me when my phone rang. Normally I would've ignored it, but something made me look.

  
Eran took me to the hospital. I told him he didn't have to. He said he didn't care.

Massive stroke. He'd seemed tired, but--

His family was long gone, so I was the only one there. I held his hand until he stopped breathing. "You were supposed to hold on another week, you bastard," I said.

I signed papers and pretended to listen. They'd send the body to the funeral home; we'd taken care of that stuff years ago. It was all the other shit I needed to deal with now, and I wasn't even thinking about that asshole out west until Jikaku was ashes. They'd need to get his things out of the retirement home by noon; there was a waiting list. I didn't trust the workers there, and the fucking monks would probably take 'holy mementos.' There was no one I could get to do it.

Well. That wasn't completely true.

Of course, Jeff was the one to pick up the damn phone. "What?"

"Monk there?"

"Of course he is, it's four o'clock in the morning. What's going on?"

"Put him on."

"Yeah." It was like I could hear him rolling his eyes. The hospital corridors were so quiet I could hear my boots hitting the cheap linoleum as I walked down them.

Monk was less hostile. "What's wrong?"

"Jikaku," I said. "He's gone. They'll want his shit out of the home, and I don't--"

"Call them," he said. "We'll do it. Are you all right? Do you need a ride?"

"No," I said. I'd almost forgotten Eran. "I'm fine."

"Are you really fine, or are you saying 'fine' so I'll leave you alone?"

I pushed open yet another swinging door. "Does it matter?"

He sighed. "I'll meet you at the temple?"

"Yeah," I said. "Thanks."

Eran was still there waiting for me, all elbows and angles in the uncomfortable hospital chair, flipping through _Better Homes and Gardens._

"Are you gonna have a better home, or are you working on your garden?" It was a pathetic attempt at a joke, but he smiled at it anyway.

"You okay?"

"He's gone," I said.

"I figured." He got up. "I'll take you home, okay?"

"Okay," I said, and I didn't resist when he hugged me.

"I figured."


	4. The Day Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's always a road ahead.
> 
> Thanks again to [](http://emungere.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**emungere**](http://emungere.dreamwidth.org/) for the beta.

Apparently the rooftop garden at the top of the Lotus Center is not an appropriate place to sunbathe. Even if you keep your shirt on.

I'd been up there waiting for Gen for half an hour, and the Holy Brethren were starting to hover. Usually they only did that when I was near something worth stealing, but maybe they thought I'd consider the peach tree fair game. (I guess after Ed started working at the temple, the monks decided that anyone Gen actually appeared to care about came from the prison, and I definitely counted in that tally. The fact that Ed could quote Shakespeare from memory as well as I could didn't help; though, like Gen said, it was nice to see they'd lost _some_ misconceptions about ex-cons.)

I admit it was fun, most of the time. If they spent an hour counting to make sure I hadn't swiped any of their plastic chopsticks, that was on them, not me. Plus I could look up their noses from my spot on the ground, which was juvenile, but amusing.

I pushed my sunglasses up my nose and fixed my gaze on the one nearest me, one of the younger guys just out of college. He'd been pretending to inspect the greenhouse. "Can I help you with something?"

He hesitated. They usually did, if I actually called them on their bullshit. "No," he finally stammered. "I'm fine."

"Nice day, huh?" That's why I'd come up here to wait in the first place; there was too much sunlight to waste the afternoon sitting outside Gen's office waiting for the world's longest meeting to wrap up.

"Ah," he said, his hands smoothing his robe down nervously. I wondered what they'd told him about me. "It is."

"You get to come up here often? Check the garden?"

He nodded. Poor kid, he looked terrified.

"I always wanted a garden. Never had a place where I could really do it." I'd had a tomato plant in fourth grade, but I lost it when I switched foster homes. And the plants I kept in the window weren't really the same, though I liked having them around. "You from the city?"

He shook his head. "Grew up on a farm."

"So this is small potatoes, huh?"

He smiled in spite of himself. "You could say that, yeah."

"You came out here for the temple?"

"College," he said, and finally got brave enough to step a little closer to me. "The temple found me."

I gestured over at the chair next to me, and he sat down. "I can't really stay and talk," he said. "I have to check the irrigation system."

"I didn't realize you irrigated up here."

"Oh yes," he said. "It's a drip system, which uses water much more efficiently; spraying loses so much to evaporation...."

He was still sitting there talking irrigation when Gen finally came out. "Hey," he said. "Don't you have work to do?"

"Don't get jealous," I said, as the kid scampered away. "He's young enough to be my son."

"It's good for him," he said, turning back to the door and holding it open for me. "Keeps him on his toes. They all think they just need to sit down on a cushion and say some magic words and they'll be freed from all cares in life. Morons."

I Ieaned up and kissed him, hoping the Brethren got a good eyeful. _Look. Attachment. Old people having sex. Grab your smelling salts._

  
In the morning, I traced poetry on Gen's back to wake him up.

I was halfway though _finally meet_ when he said, "One of these mornings, you're doing to do that, and I'm going to smack the hell out of you before I'm even awake."

"I'm good at dodging." I kissed the back of his neck. "You gonna tell me what's up now?" He'd  
avoided it last night, and I'd mostly let him, but he couldn't play that game forever.

He sighed like a martyr. "You'll keep asking."

I put my arm around him and pulled him closer. "Yep."

"I've got to go west," he grumbled, like it was a tooth extraction. "Deal with the other temples. I've put it off too long already."

"You know I'm on sabbatical this semester," I said. "I can come with you."

He snorted. "And work on your book how?"

I shrugged. "They make magical devices called tablets. I can work on the road."

"I don't want you dragged into this bullshit."

 _Tough shit,_ I thought, but I knew what his answer would be to that. "I'll just hang out at the motel or whatever and write. We'd have the nights to ourselves. No Holy Brethren giving us dirty looks."

He shook his head.

"C'mon, I'll make breakfast and we can talk about it."

He sighed again. "You just think you can talk me into anything."

 _Well, yes._ "I think I'm hungry."

  
Jeff said, "You've gotta be shitting me."

"I wasn't aware you had anything better to do," Gen snapped.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't aware how much you prized my company."

Gen gave him the finger.

"Ladies," I said, getting up from the table and walking over to the couch Jeff was lounging on, "you're both pretty."

They both gave me the finger for that. Gen stalked off to the kitchen after Ed, which was hilarious, because it wasn't like he'd actually lift a finger to help.

Jeff shook his head and leaned back into the cushion. Whoever that old lady had been, she had some fantastic furniture. "How do you put up with it?"

It took me a second to realize what he was asking. _I love him,_ I thought. I said, "He's not so bad."

"You're insane," he said, tipping his bottle up to drain the last of the beer.

I scooted closer. "Look," I said, my voice low. "He's driving into a pile of shit, and he thinks he can do it all himself."

"What's that got to do with me?"

"You can drive," I said, "and you speak better Spanish than any of us. Ed can check the books, but I think we'll need more than that." _And Ed needs you. And I think we all will._

He narrowed his eyes and looked at me, more closely than normal. "What kind of shit do you think you're getting into?"

I glanced over at the kitchen; Ed was rambling on about something, which meant Gen would at least be pretending to listen. "Ever hear why I got fired from _Bicycle?"_

He shook his head. "Just that Gen had the blog post that did it up in the office for years."

"People in the Buddhist community don't like to air out the dirty laundry. And I named names. Not just Tendzin giving people HIV back in the 80's, shit that was going down now."

"Go on," he said.

"Even back then, they were calling some of the temples a cult. I don't think it's gotten any better."

He frowned. "Cult like 'they're weird' or cult like Jim Jones?"

"Everything I've heard points to poison Kool-Aid."

"It was Flavor-Aid," he said, absentmindedly.

"Thank you, Jeff, for that completely useless correction."

He laughed. "You used to say that in class too. So what, you're worried someone'll come after us with guns?" He searched my face, and the grin disappeared. "You _are_ worried someone'll come after us with guns."

"Probably not 'us,'" I said wryly. "Just Gen. He's the son of the founder, and probably the one person left who can challenge this guy on his own turf." I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. I could be totally off. I hope I am. I mean, worst case scenario, you get a free vacation, right?"

He nodded at that. "Yeah, I guess so." He'd been hunting for jobs for almost a month now, since the bar burned down, and I knew it was getting to him.

"I figure if we drive out, hit the temples as we go, it shouldn't be more than a month or two." Yeah, well, I can't be right about _everything._ "We're lucky, I'm wrong. You get a break, I get some time with Gen, everybody wins." Like I said, I'm not right about everything. I was sure right about not wanting Gen out there alone, though.

"I'll talk it over with Ed," Jeff said.

"Thanks." Just asking him had eased the nervous scratching at the back of my mind. And I guess I knew we'd talk them into it in the end. Whatever Gen was going to have to deal with, I was damned if he'd do it alone.

Whether he liked it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Bicycle_ magazine doesn't exist; there is a very good Buddhist publication named [Tricycle.](http://www.tricycle.com/) I have exaggerated mainstream Western Buddhism's reluctance to self-criticize for the purposes of Drama (and I figure Nii's really good at fooling people in any incarnation), but the [Tendzin](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/%C3%96sel_Tendzin) Eran refers to was unfortunately real.


End file.
